His body lays in a butchered mass, glistening underneath the low candle light. The bed he lies on is stained with deep red, his ankles still bound together. What once was a handsome face is now a skinless work of art; bloody and torn. His hands are still handcuffed to the bed posts, although one is nearly severed. A thin line of blood still drips there, not yet congealed. The mirror above the bed casts an eerie reflection of the horrid work that she has done, and she smiles sadly, shaking her head in approval.
"How does it feel to be dead?" she asks aloud, staring at his corpse, almost expecting him to answer with his bloodied and torn lips.
She lays down the knife and digs through her purse, looking for her camera. Finding it, she aims it to the bed and starts taking pictures, giggling. One, two, three, four...the pictures of his death. They will live on forever in her memory and on these glossy photos that she now takes. When she is finished, she stacks them up and places them in her bag. Going to the bathroom adjoining his room, she takes off her rubber gloves and stuffs them into her pockets, careful not to touch anything with her bare hands. She enters the room for the final time, picking up the knife and securing it in her purse.
She takes a final, longing look at him and he glares at her with one bloody eye. His tongue has slipped free from his mouth and is dangling out the side like a dead slug, blood dripping off the tip. His chest is a mass of hacked flesh and part of his heart peeks out of him, staring at her. Blood splatters the ceiling above him. Arterial spray covers his lamp and table, sticky and drying. He never knew what was going on. She still remembers the look of helpless surprise in his eyes as she raised the knife and brought it down again and again into his abdomen and pelvis. She was just having a little bit of fun...that was all.
Revenge is sweet, she thinks. And so is the smell of his blood.
Before she turns to go, she knocks over his candles with her purse, watching the curtains blaze with a brilliant orange glow. She stands and watches it burn for a moment, crawling up the bedsheets, burning his flesh. She can smell him burning and it makes an evil smile curl her lips. "Goodbye, lover," she says. She walks out of his room and leaves the door open behind her, waiting for the sound of the fire to burn up everything she ever loved.
